


1992.04.17

by klaviergavout



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Sad, based around the events of WE:LVE, i am still not ok, this is purely self-indulgent sad comfort fic that i need right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaviergavout/pseuds/klaviergavout
Summary: Yuto tries not to think about Hui leaving, but the more he stares at it, that date on his hand looks an awful lot like a countdown.
Relationships: Adachi Yuto & Lee Hwitaek/Hui
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1992.04.17

**Author's Note:**

> So Yuto got a temporary tattoo of Jinho's birthday on his hand and kept showing it to the camera on WE:LVE today which 1) absolutely broke me and 2) made me think, "hey, if I felt sad about someone leaving, having a tattoo of their birthday on my hand would probably make me feel even worse". And then I remembered Hui is leaving really soon, which is always fun to think about.

By the time Yuto manages to trudge his way up three flights of stairs, half-heartedly swipe his keycard on the reader and practically fall straight through his studio's open doorway, he's more than exhausted — and after a long day of performing, there's nothing he'd rather do than throw himself onto the sofa and _sleep,_ properly sleep for the first time in weeks. But in these early morning hours there's always something that stops him, a thought in the back of his mind that tells him _you don't deserve that._ And Yuto caves every time, because he's always itching to push himself one hour more, always wanting to work harder than everyone else, and isn't that productive of him? Isn't that responsible? So he takes off his coat and gloves, throws _them_ onto the sofa instead, and gets back to work. No big deal.

He reaches for the half-full can of Monster on his desk, lets the sickly florescent liquid course down his throat, and reminds himself that WE:LVE had been a success. How could it not have been? Two weeks straight he'd practiced 독 in the mirror. Two weeks straight he'd sung ( _sung!_ ) harmonies for 도돌이표, chided himself every time he went too high or too loud and his voice came out in an unpleasant squeak. Two weeks straight he'd sat staring down at his humidifier and prayed to the gods that he wouldn't lose his voice. Self-quarantine might have postponed their concert, but it had also offered Yuto extra prep time on his own; for such an anticipated performance, he had needed all the prep time— and alone time— he could get.

He starts up his Mac, gets Garageband open. He hooks his guitar up to its amp, gets out the little notebook that he sometimes scribbles ideas in between schedules. He opens _another_ can of Monster— for later, he says to himself, but it'll be gone within minutes— and thinks he's finally ready to start. But then Yuto sees it, fake ink faded on the side of his hand: 1992.04.17. And his undying motivation ebbs away.

Yuto slumps in his chair, lets the guitar slide down his knees and land with a soft _thump_ on the carpet. It was meant to be something sweet, a simple way for them to appreciate all of Jinho's hard work over the past few months. But the date blurs and warps whenever he looks closer; it's a grim countdown marked into his skin, pressing steadily on towards the next enlistment. And Yuto wonders: what's the point of pushing himself when in the end there'll be no one he wants to impress? What's the point of working harder than everyone else when 'everyone' doesn't exist any more? What's the point of the spring snow when there's one less person to see it with?

Just when Yuto starts to feel the dam get close to breaking — that's when Hui bursts through the door, as you do at two AM on a Sunday night.

" _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_ — wait, you're not on a Vlive, are you."

Yuto can't help but laugh at his leader's headstrong nature. He swivels around to face him, chokes down the sadness that threatens to taint his words. "Surprising, I know. Yeah— I thought I might get some work done tonight. Finish up that new demo."

"Tonight? Yuto, we've just done a _concert."_

"We perform every day," Yuto shrugs, grabbing the nearest open Monster can and taking a long swig. "My mixtape isn't going to write itself."

"Yuto—"

_"Hyung."_ He reaches over and pats the edge of the sofa. "Come sit down already, you've worked hard. Didn't all that rock and rolling tire you out?"

Hui takes a seat, but he doesn't break eye contact. Yuto knows full well he's being analysed; this is just what happens when your career depends on good teamwork. When something feels off in the group — a step out of turn, a passing glare, a stomach rumble too many — the leader steps up to find a solution. What makes Hui differ from others in the industry, however, is just how stubborn he is to _get_ that solution, and fast. It's clear he puts the team before everything.

"What?" Yuto asks, when the staring gets too much. Hui just raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Usually he'd just pass off any concerns, giving the excuse of _I can't disappoint the fans, can I?._ And it works every time because the one thing Hui could possibly put before the team is their fanbase. But tonight Yuto's mind is bogged down with enlistment dates and missing harmonies and _don't leave, you can't leave too;_ he feels like giving in to Hui's coddling, just this once.

Not that he has much time left to do so.

"Okay," Yuto says, pushing that last thought down deep inside him. "Just this once."

He shuts down Garageband, turns off his Mac and packs his guitar away, resolute to spend these last few hours _right_. For once Hui's silent, scrolling lazily through his phone — hardly paying attention to any of it — but Yuto doesn't miss the warm smile on Hui's face when his guitar case clicks shut, the flicker of relief that flashes in his eyes.

It's a punch in the gut, dull ache settling in his stomach, but under no circumstances is he going to make Hui feel responsible; so when Yuto sits back down, he pulls out his phone and looks through Instagram for a while. Stops the eye contact before it can even begin.

"You did really well," he says at last, not wanting to seem awkward. "WTH was amazing. Me and Wooseok were worried we wouldn't be able to carry the energy."

"What? Come on, you and Wooseok are a great team. _Maknaes,"_ Hui says back, imitating the three youngest members' catchphrase before bursting into a fit of giggles. Yuto laughs along with him, smiles wide enough that his dimples start to show, but it hurts. Everything hurts tonight.

"You and Shinwon make a good team too."

"Yeah, but you and Wooseok are efficient. You guys run on energy drinks and willpower—" here Hui gestures at the colourful row of empty Monster cans Yuto's stacked along his shelf — "but it takes me two round trips to McDonalds to get that one focused."

"What can I say, it's a good incentive," Yuto says with a smirk, still scrolling through the #adachiyuto hashtag; right now the content is half complimenting his outfit, half complimenting 독 and 도돌이표. All sweet words. Then something catches his eye. "Oh, look, it's—"

Jinho. It's Jinho. The cardboard cutout of him that they took photos with at the end. Shinwon is there too, he supposes. And that was the most insidious part of it all, really, to Yuto. They brought him out for pictures when everyone was still sore. Having to pretend he was there with them in the classroom concept was hard enough! Yuto thought the whole thing was plain and simple: in the end, no matter what form he took — cardboard, ink, chat message — Pentagon and Jinho would still be a screen apart. And now Hui was leaving, Hui who was so _caring_ and _clever_ and everything Pentagon needed right now and he was _leaving_ —

"Woah, woah, Yuto, hey," Hui says, snapping Yuto out of the unpleasant train of thought he'd just voiced aloud. "What do you— what's going on?"

The dam breaks.

There's a scramble to get up and a good few _clinks_ of Monster cans being clumsily knocked over as Hui shuffles along the sofa, finally stopping to perch himself on the armrest and reach out for Yuto's shoulder. But of course Yuto couldn't actually _see_ any of that, because his eyes are fixed on 1992.04.17, his brain is stuck on that image of Shinwon with a _cardboard cutout_ , and silent tears are dripping down his nose and cheeks and onto the countdown-that-isn't.

"Yuto-ya, please don't cry." Hui lets out a shaky laugh, reaching up to cup Yuto's face with both hands and swipe away his tears with his thumbs. "I'm guessing this has something to do with me."

They make eye contact again, but there's something different there now. Recognition. Like Hui's looking into his eyes and seeing himself.

"No," Yuto insists, reaching for Hui's hands with a loud sniff and trying to push them away. "No! This is _not_ your fault. I just— I should have spent more time with him, with _you_ —-"

"Don't blame yourself," Hui says, letting go of Yuto's face and reaching for his hands. "We've all been busy, and it won't be too long. We'll be back before you know it."

"Then someone else will leave," Yuto chokes out, sniffling back a fresh wave of tears, "and then the next person, and the next person. It hurts too much to wait. And by the time you all come back, Pentagon could be finished. We might have disbanded. I need to—"

Yuto stops; breathes; lets himself decompress.

"I just need to know we'll be nine again."

Hui says nothing, because what else is he supposed to do? He wishes Yuto's fears were irrational, but he's seen them echoed everywhere — in fan posts, in idle conversation, even in interviews. Instead he goes in for a hug, and Yuto all but collapses into his shoulder. Exhausted.

"I can't promise you that," Hui sighs at last. "You know I can't. But no matter who leaves, no matter where we end up— whether as bandmates or just as friends — I've put up with you all for too long to ever give up on you," he says with a smile. "I promise you I'll never let Pentagon go."

"How are we supposed to do this without you?" Yuto whispers, voice muffled into Hui's shirt. "Without Jinho-hyung, too?"

"Oh, you'll manage," Hui says with a wry smile, rubbing soothing motions up and down Yuto's back. "Kino will keep you in line for sure. You'd better practice your dances."

The two of them giggle through their tears, smiling as they clutch onto the fabric of each others' shirts and let themselves feel what they had both forced deep down. For Hui, time keeps ticking past; he has to take each precious day as it comes, now. But for Yuto, for just a moment, the countdown stops.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: In case you don't already know, 독 (dok) and 도돌이표 (dodoripyo) are songs Yuto performed during the WE:LVE concert. 도돌이표 was actually a duet with Yuto and Wooseok, it was really good.
> 
> This is the first fic that I've written in a looooooong while (lockdown zapped all my energy lmao), so comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated :')


End file.
